Two Halves of the Same Whole
by diplodoofus
Summary: George had inadvertently let down every shield he’d ever made to guard his twisted little secret, and Fred saw straight into his mind; saw everything he’d hated and wanted for so long. And it was a perfect match..." Implied twincest.


**_Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I'm just borrowing them for the duration and will return them unharmed._**

**Two Halves of the Same Whole**

No one could say for certain when it started. No one could work out exactly when it began. The differences people picked up on were so subtle you could be forgiven for thinking they had always been there.

But then again, maybe they had.

As identical twins, Fred and George Weasley had always been close. They shared a bond they could never have with anyone else, even their other siblings. Alike in every way, from their handsome features to their love of practical jokes, they lived in a world other people could take part in, but never be a part of.

It's been said that some twins have a psychic link between them. This certainly seemed likely in the case of Fred and George – how else could you explain the way they finished each others sentences and how they seemed to know what the other was thinking? How else could you explain their perfect synchronicity?

When they were younger their inseparability was adorable. When asked a question they would answer in stereo with matching smiles and sparkles in their matching brown eyes. And at night their mother, Molly Weasley, would often enter their room to find them sleeping in a tangle of limbs, clinging onto each other as if they were afraid to let go.

As they got older and even more mischievous, they learned to use the fact they were twins to their advantage. Countless times they had swapped places with each other, much to the delight of their friends and exasperation of their parents and teachers. And using the link between them, they could set off Dungbombs at exactly the same time from opposite ends of Hogwarts castle, or appear from classrooms across the corridor from each other simultaneously and talk in unison at whoever was walking past at the time. Snape was their preferred victim for this – despite the fact he normally docked at least 40 points from Gryffindor and/or gave them detention – it was worth it for the expression on his face.

The emotional closeness still remained too. Even at 12 or 13, one would occasionally wake from a nightmare and sneak into the other's bed to be comforted, only to be found the next morning still together, having fell asleep again mid-hug.

Their parents didn't encourage this, but they didn't forbid it outright either; for all they knew it was how most twins behaved. Besides, like everyone else they thought it was a phase they'd grow out of in their adolescent years when individuality and self identity was at the forefront of every teenager's mind. And surely this would be all the more important to someone whose brother was so identical to themselves ("Down to the last freckle," their mother used to say) that it was like staring into a mirror every time they looked at each other.

In fact, Mrs Weasley anticipated teenage rebellion from her twins of the sort she never got from her other children. Ever since their third year when Hogsmeade visits were allowed, she'd expected them to return home for the summer with tattoos, piercings, different hair colours and/or cuts, or at the very least different styles of clothes; anything to set them apart from each other.

But they never did. They never felt the need to. Indeed, if anyone had voiced the idea out loud it would've shocked them to the core.

Fred and George _loved_ being twins. There was the fact it took their practical joke-making to a whole new level, but there was a more important reason too – one they would never say out loud. They relished the bond between them, for they each had in the other someone that no one else had. Someone to talk to that would always understand; someone that could be there in a way no one else could.

They didn't crave separate identities – to be "Fred, and George rather than "Fred-and-George". Why would they, when deep down they knew they were simply halves of the same whole?

Even if you asked the twins themselves, they wouldn't be able to tell you when things changed. What they would be able to tell you however, is when they both realised it had. They remembered – and would always remember – the moment like it was yesterday, for it was a time of intense emotion; love, joy, but also horror and shame.

It was a moment that would forever lie heavy on their hearts…

The New Years party at the Leaky Cauldron was being held for a number of reasons. On the surface, it was a simple new years party – an excuse to meet up with friends, drink copious amounts of alcohol and stay up way past anyone's bedtime. But if you looked deeper, it had a far more serious meaning: To prove to Voldemort and his followers that they were not afraid.

Christmas had been a tough time in the wizarding world. Voldemort had used the festive season as a backdrop to one of his most devastating attacks yet. And because most people had relatives or friends or both in the Order of the Phoenix, the day was largely spent worrying about whether loved ones would ever see another Christmas after this one. Fortunately, although Order members did perish, the loss to the Death Eaters was far greater. So much so that their attacks had seemed to stop completely while they regrouped to think of better plans. So to make up for this supposedly "festive" period, the lull was taken advantage of, and the party was organised…

"…It's like a proverbial two-fingered salute to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named," said Fred Weasley, demonstrating the gesture to his brother George, who laughed.

"Oh, Fred, really!" his mother said, as she bustled past them with armfuls of decorations. Fred pulled a face at Molly Weasley's retreating back.

"The way she treats us sometimes, you'd think we were –"

"-Twelve." George finished for him. "Instead of the brilliantly fantastic- "

"Don't forget handsome"

"-Brilliantly fantastic _handsome _entrepreneurs we really are. And all at the tender age of nineteen too."

Fred looked up and caught his brother's eye. George held his gaze. They regarded each other for a moment.

"Yeah, definitely handsome!" they said in unison. Laughing, they went back to what they were doing; putting the finishing touches to one of the best batches of indoor fireworks they'd ever created. And they weren't the only ones hard at work. Their brother Ron and his best friend Harry Potter were polishing glasses at the bar (not behind it, much to Ron's dismay) and their sister Ginny was sprinkling snow from the end of her wand onto the banister and edges of the staircase along with Hermione Granger; the two gossiping about Ron the whole time.

Mr. Weasley had been trying to set up an elaborate lighting rig using Muggle methods, until an exasperated Molly had screeched "Use your _wand_, Arthur, for goodness sake!" from the other side of the pub. In shock, Mr. Weasley had dropped the spotlight he was holding and everyone winced as it smashed on the floor, except the twins, who gave him a standing ovation. Sheepishly, Mr. Weasley climbed down from his stepladder, pointed his wand at the wreckage and muttered "_reparo"_ under his breath, before using magic to guide the newly repaired spotlight to its proper place on the rig.

Eventually, after a hard day's decorating, they were finished. And an excellent job they'd done too. The whole pub had the atmosphere of a clearing in some snowy forest far north, with Molly's icicle decorations, Ginny and Hermione's snow on the stairs, the old Christmas tree (which had been stripped of its usual baubles to give it a more natural feel) and one of Fred & George's inventions called "Snow For All Occasions" which produced a realistic snowfall that settled, but didn't get your feet or the bottom of your trousers wet and was easy to clean up afterwards. Add to that Mr. Weasley's lighting, which reflected off the snow, sparkling and bathing everything in colours of turquoise and purple and you had a party venue to be proud of.

"Well, what does everyone think?" Mrs. Weasley asked, as everyone stood back admiring their creation.

"Beautiful dear," said Mr. Weasley

"Awesome," said Fred and George together

"S'alright I s'pose," came Ron's voice from the bar.

"Only alright?" asked Mrs Weasley anxiously. Ron shrugged.

"Well, it's decorated ain't it?"

"Oh really, Ronald!" That was Hermione. She folded her arms and glared at him. "Don't worry Mrs. Weasley, the place looks fantastic. Boys just don't appreciate these things."

Ron quailed under her stare. "Yeah mum, it's lovely. Really."

The smile came back into Mrs. Weasley's face. "Good. Well, it's five o'clock. That gives us plenty of time to get ready if the party starts at eight."

Hermione looked at Ginny, horror-struck. "3 hours?!"

"We'll never make it!" Ginny replied, an equal look of terror on her face. Seconds later they were running down the stairs full pelt and out of the door. Ron glanced at Harry, shaking his head.

"Girls."

"So," Fred said to George as they walked back up the path to the Burrow. "You looking forward to tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess," George said with a shrug. Truth was, he wasn't, although he put up a front so good he even fooled himself into being excited about it. Everybody would be laughing and joking, having a good time. Dancing too, more than likely. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Bill and Fleur. George had never put himself down as the jealous type, but he felt a stab of envy when he thought of all these couples. Because the one person he wanted, had wanted all along, was the one he couldn't have. Damn Fred. It was all his fault.

"Well I am," Fred said. He regarded his brother as they ambled along the well-trodden earth, lagging behind the others who were already inside. George seemed troubled and for once he didn't know why. It bothered him, although technically it shouldn't, for Fred had secrets of his own. And because the brothers had always put each other's happiness first, Fred knew he could never tell him. Damn George. He could've at least _noticed_ something was wrong.

_I noticed his troubles, _Fred thought angrily. It was more anger at himself than at George, but even so he couldn't stop the wicked grin that spread over his face as he said:

"Angelina's gonna be there."

George stopped, and for a fleeting moment Fred thought he saw something cross his face akin to disappointment. Even hurt.

But almost immediately it was replaced by a raised eyebrow in combination with a cocked head and folded arms in mock disapproval. All a cover, but somehow it fooled Fred.

"Angelina Johnson? But I thought you were over her?"

Fred was, but something made him lie. To see George's reaction perhaps; or maybe to make him feel the hurt that Fred himself had felt for far too long.

"No. In fact actually, I think I'm in love with her."

That sentence sent George reeling. In the flood of emotion that filled his head, he didn't notice Fred's lie. Probably for the best, as that would've hurt him even more.

_But Fred doesn't know. He can't know. So you can't blame him._

Knowing this didn't make him feel any better. With a mumbled excuse about having to get ready, he stormed into the house, all the while trying to hide the fact he was storming. But Fred saw the rigid way he held himself and knew he'd hit a nerve. He'd seen George's simple sarcastic façade fall away in front of his eyes and knew he'd hurt his twin. Picturing his face at the moment he'd told him he was in love with Angelina, any remaining anger vanished. He'd hurt his twin. And that was the last thing he'd wanted to do. Especially on the night of the party, when everyone was meant to be happy.

_But the truth would hurt you more, that I'm sure of. It's better this way. For everyone._

Fred heaved a heavy sigh, and followed George inside. There was a party he had to pretend to be looking forward to.

George was in their bedroom rummaging through a pile of clothes on his bed when he heard Fred come upstairs and go into the bathroom across the hall. Normally he wasn't too fussed what he was wearing, and even on special occasions he didn't need a quarter of the 3 hours that Ginny deemed 'nowhere near enough time' to get ready. But tonight was different. Tonight he wanted to _look_ different.

Different to Fred. A hard task, considering they had an identical taste in clothes. But to George it seemed the perfect way to have a dig at his brother without causing undue atmosphere at the party. They always seemed to dress the same and it was nearly always accidental, but they loved it. Their way of showing everyone else they were one and the same.

_Two halves of the same whole. That's what we should've been tonight._

"Well, if Fred hadn't been such a git, we would've been," George muttered to himself. With a sigh, he flung the shirt he'd been holding back down on the bed and walked over to the full length mirror, staring moodily at his reflection. But it was Fred he saw staring moodily back at him.

_Damn Fred gets bloody everywhere! There's no escaping him…_

His thoughts were cut short by his brother entering the room wearing only a towel around his slim waist. He ignored George completely and George tried to do the same, but Fred's reflection was back in the mirror – his real one this time – and George couldn't help staring at it.

_Why him? It's not fair._

Unable to bear the atmosphere any longer, George gathered up the clothes on his bed and went into the bathroom to start sorting through them all again. Knowing Fred, he'd be wearing something cool and casual to impress Angelina (that still stung, even when he only said it in his head), so George decided he'd go for the sophisticated look. Dress robes ought to do the trick.

Fred stood in front of his wardrobe gazing at the rails of clothes. He didn't have a clue what to wear. Because for the first time in his life, he wanted to look different to George. Better than George.

_Well, he's gonna go for the casual look, cause that's what I'd normally go for…_

The reminder of their normal closeness tasted bitter in his throat, but he ignored it.

…_So go for the opposite. Dress robes._

"Looking _good_!" Fred said to himself as he admired his reflection in the mirror. Feeling smugly self-satisfied at his stroke of genius with the dress robes idea, he strolled out of the bedroom…

…at the same time George came out of the bathroom. They both stopped dead, staring at each other across the hall. They could've only been there for seconds, but it seemed a lifetime before George, infuriated, spun round and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Bugger. Should've known Fred would think of the dress robes idea. I need something different, something he'd _never _think of…"

Muttering to himself, George went back to sorting through his pile of clothes. But he was all out of ideas. Just as he was about to give up, his hand closed round something hard and entirely un-clotheslike. Frowning, he looked to see what it was.

A cd. The most recent album by a Muggle band called _Fall Out Boy_.

Absentmindedly, George looked at it, and a grin flooded his face.

_Muggle clothes! It's so simple, Fred would never think of it!_

10 minutes later and George was done. He was wearing baggy jeans, a slim-fitting faded black t-shirt, a pair of sneakers and a studded belt.

"Perfect!"

He left the bathroom, again at the same time Fred left the bedroom. And again, each twin found himself looking at the other in an identical outfit. They frowned at each other.

"But –"

"You –"

However, their potential argument was cut short by the appearance of their mother, who was coming to tell them to hurry up, or they'd all be late.

"Why you insist on wearing matching clothes I will never know," she remarked as the twins followed her down the stairs, glaring daggers at each other. "And be careful with those ridiculous belts – you could take a house-elf's eye out!"

At the party, the twins found it surprisingly easy to avoid each other without causing a fuss. Most people were too preoccupied with having a good time, and the rest of the Weasley family were too busy playing host to notice. When Angelina arrived, Fred latched on to her and they spent a large portion of the night together. George, standing in a shadowy corner, watched their every move. Each laugh, each smile, each 'accidental' touch of their hands just added more fuel to the fire of George's growing envy.

"George? You alright, mate?" The voice made him jump.

It was Ron. "Where's your other half?"

The phrasing made George wince. He gestured vaguely across the room, to where Fred was now standing _incredibly_ close to Angelina and playing with a ringlet of her hair.

"Ah," Ron said. "Bad luck, mate." He patted his older brother's shoulder, then went off back to his friends.

Fred did feel guilty about using Angelina, and also guilty about the effect it seemed to be having on his twin. But if he focused his attention on someone else, he thought maybe he could forget... No. Better not to even _mention_ it. If he had to hurt George in this way, then so be it. Especially if he might even help himself in the process. Better this than the disgust Fred knew George would feel if he knew.

_I'd rather let jealousy contort his face than revulsion. Somehow, his hatred of me because of Angelina would be much easier to bear._

"Fred? Fred!" Angelina's voice shook him out of his thoughts.

"What? Sorry."

"Fred, I need to tell you something before your mind wanders off again," Angelina said, untangling Fred's fingers from her hair. "You've barely been paying attention to me all night, and the attention I have got isn't what I want."

"What are you saying?"

"I like you, Fred. But I don't _like_ you. I'd rather we just be friends."

"But..."

"I'm sorry," Angelina said, giving Fred's arm a quick squeeze. He reached up to try and take her hand, but she stepped away.

"I gotta go."

Fred's hand lingered in the air for a moment, before he let it fall like a dead weight to his side. Looking across the room, his eyes met his own. George had watched the whole thing from the other side of the room. There was a sly smile on his face.

Fred's eyes shone with unshed tears. He blinked, and one escaped to trace its downward path along his pale cheek. Turning, he made for the door before George could see.

But George _did_ see.

_We've always put each other first. Why should that change now? Would you hate him to make yourself feel better? Or will you be happy just to have him, your _twin, _your other half, in your life the way he should be?_

Feeling something on his face, George put his hand up. And wiped away a tear that was tracing its downward path along his own pale cheek. George took this as his answer, and followed Fred outside.

He found him sitting on a rock in the back yard of the pub, near the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Nice threads," George ventured. "Shame about the hole in the jeans though."

Fred smiled weakly. "Likewise."

"Fred—"

"George—"

"I've got something to tell you," they both said together.

"I want to say I'm sorry. I've been selfish..."

"...I've been _very_ selfish..."

"...And we always said we'd put the other..."

"...One first, and I haven't and it's just..."

"...Not fair." They both finished in stereo.

Fred got up, and they embraced, each drawing comfort from the other, and holding on as if they never wanted to let go. In the end, it was Fred that spoke first.

"George, I'm sorry about Angelina. It's just I was angry, and I knew it'd get to you..."

"Angelina isn't what bothered me. But what did was..." George faltered. He'd said too much and he knew it. This was it. This was the part where he lost his twin forever.

"What is it?"

George wouldn't meet his brother's gaze.

_My brother. My twin. My other half..._

"No," George mumbled. "I can't. It's too damn bloody _wrong_!" Through his despair, George had inadvertently let down every shield he'd ever made to guard his twisted little secret, and Fred saw straight into his mind; saw everything he'd hated and wanted for so long. And it was a perfect match.

_Two halves of the same whole..._

Fred tilted his twin's face up, and their eyes met. "But what if what's _wrong_ just feels too damn bloody _right_?"


End file.
